


Compress

by RedScribbler



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Brief Description of Injuries, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode 179, Episode Tag, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Season 5 Spoilers, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:41:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26549899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedScribbler/pseuds/RedScribbler
Summary: “I donotlike this.”“Yes. You’ve said.”“Well. I’m saying it again. For the record.”“What record?”Martin glared down at where Jon sat, stretching out his injured leg.~After leaving Basira behind, Jon and Martin talk. Set just after "Accomplice".
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 12
Kudos: 169





	Compress

“I do _not_ like this.”

“Yes. You’ve said.”

“Well. I’m saying it again. For the record.”

“What record?”

Martin glared down at where Jon sat, stretching out his injured leg.

They had stopped at what used to be a security booth that marked the border of the refinery, not quite out of the domain but no longer fully in it either. The factory was no longer in sight but the plumes of choking black smoke could still be seen spitting into the sky, and the smell of the place was inescapable.

As soon as Martin spotted the burned-out booth with its broken boom gate, he had declared that they were stopping for a break so he could check on Jon’s leg. Jon had opened his mouth to protest and shut it almost as quickly when he saw the withering look on Martin’s face. 

Now, he sat on the step leading up to the booth, both legs splayed out in front of him as he watched Martin fuss with the bags.

“It’s a turn of phrase, Jon, don’t be pedantic,” Martin muttered as he propped their heavy backpacks against the side of the booth.

“Sorry.”

“No, don’t-” He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest, “That’s not even- Leaving Basira behind is a bad idea Jon! I know it, you know it, and I’m pretty sure Basira knows it too! We should go back for her.”

Jon grunted as he leaned forward to roll up his ruined trouser leg.

“That won’t help her,” He said softly, “She needs her space.”

“Yeah, yeah, and I get that, okay? I do but- but the middle of an actual apocalypse isn’t really the best place for some- some- self-reflection!”

“Martin… she doesn’t want to be around us.”

“She hasn’t really wanted to be around us since we met back up with her though, has she?” Martin scoffed, “At least if we were all together, she would be safe while she- she resented us or whatever!”

“Nowhere is safe,” Jon said with a dark look in his eye.

“Okay, no, don’t- don’t get ominous on me right now,” Martin hunkered down so he was at eye-level with Jon, “Maybe nowhere is safe-safe, but I know where the _safest_ place in this world is and that is with you. You- You’re more powerful than anything else out here and you always know when danger is coming,” His gaze wandered to Jon’s leg, “When you Look for it, anyway.”

Rather than address that, Jon searched for a different tact, as well as the start of the bandage that had been wound around his leg.

“Basira is perfectly capable of looking after herself,” He found a loose end and started to pick at it, “She managed before we found her, she’ll do so again.”

“Yeah but she had a goal before. Now she doesn’t,” Martin batted at his hand to stop him from unravelling the bandage.

“She does. It’s London.”

“So is ours!” Martin dug one hand into his hair, exasperated, “Which is exactly why we should be going there together!”

“And how do you suggest we make her come with us, Martin?” Jon spat out, “Should I Compel her? Make her walk with us?”

“O-Of course not! But-!”

“And then how do you make sure she stays with us? Hmm?” Jon grabbed onto the loose end of the bandage and started to unravel it before Martin could stop him again, “Because you know the second we turn our backs or let our guard down, she would leave.”

“Jon…”

“I would be head-first in a statement and you would be keeping watch and she would slip out under both our noses.”

“Jon.”

“And we would never catch up with her on foot, even if I was able to See her. She’s a trained professional and no offense Martin, but neither of us are exactly athletes-”

“Jon!”

Martin grabbed both of his hands to still them and pulled them away from his injured leg. It was only when he looked between their linked hands and the leg that Jon saw that he had managed to pull away a layer of bandages and, in doing so, small bright spots of blood had bloomed on the layer that remained. He hadn’t even felt it.

“Oh.”

“Jon, let me?”

“Um, s-sure.”

He leaned back as Martin let go of his hands and hauled one of the bags over to dig in it for clean bandages.

“I know…” Martin sighed as he tugged out the first aid kit, “I know she said this would help her but…” He plucked out the roll of bandages from the kit and rolled it back and forth on his palms, “The person she loved the most just died in front of her. Being alone… won’t help that.”

“Oh, oh Martin.”

Jon leaned forward and took the bandages, placing them at his side before winding his arms around Martin’s neck and hugging him.

“It’s not like that for her,” He whispered to him, “I swear it’s not. She won’t be… Lonely. Not… now, not like this.”

Martin made a sound that was more acknowledgment than agreement but he folded his arms around Jon’s middle and returned the hug.

They stayed like that for a moment, leaning their weight on each other, holding and being held. 

If time had still existed, they would know that they hadn’t been in this domain for very long- a couple of hours at the most, but the adrenaline and anticipation of confronting Daisy was only slowly starting to drip out of them now, being replaced by softer, sadder feelings that would linger with them for far longer.

Jon reached up to run a hand through the back of Martin’s hair before leaning back to look at him. He moved his hand to rest against his cheek and Martin tilted his head to lean into it.

He sighed heavily and shut his eyes.

“I just...” He mumbled against Jon’s palm, “I… just wish I could help.”

“I know,” He ran his thumb over his cheek.

“But… she asked me not to,” Martin spoke softly, more to himself then Jon, “She thinks… leaving us is what will help so…” He opened his eyes and blinked slowly, “So, that’s that, isn’t it?”

“Mmm.”

“She's stubborn. Just like you.”

“Almost as much as you are,” Jon said with a smile.

Martin sighed again and pressed his hand against Jon’s. 

“Okay,” He accepted quietly, “Okay.”

“Thank you.”

Jon leaned forward and kissed him gently.

“I still don’t like it though,” Martin grumbled when he was done.

“You don’t have to,” Jon chuckled, giving him another peck.

“Right,” Martin took his hand away and patted Jon’s good knee, “Let’s get a look at that leg.”

“Oh, right.”

Jon scootched back on the step as Martin finished the job he started. He unwrapped his bandaged leg, being careful not to touch the spots where blood stained the wrapping.

“Ah.”

“What?”

Martin straightened up from his hunch to let Jon see the leg.

When Daisy had dropped him, it had been with a shake of her head. Too many teeth each one sharper than the last had torn the leg to so many shreds. Skin, flesh, fat and fabric all rended to ribbons as arterial blood spurted out of his calf and shining wet bone was exposed.

Now, the leg looked as if he had taken a bad tumble. Whole skin with working muscle beneath it was badly bruised, blobby impressions of fangs indented into it, with a few scabs that Jon had cracked open with his stretching; the culprits of the blood spotting.

Even as they watched, the scabs were closing over. In a few more non-existent hours, it would be as if Jon had never been injured at all. It wouldn’t even scar. 

“At least _that_ still works,” Martin muttered.

He packed away the roll of bandages and took out plasters and some antiseptic wipes.

“I don’t think that’s necess-”

“Hush.”

Martin wiped the dried patches of blood off before sticking plasters over the scabs.

“We really need to keep an eye out for this, you know.”

“Hmm?”

“The whole… ‘you can be hurt if you have a relationship with someone’ thing.”

“That’s not exactly what it is, it’s more of a… how to put it? It’s more like-”

Jon froze suddenly and his gaze tilted, turning faraway as he Saw something.

Martin lay a hand on his knee, brows furrowed.

“Jo-”

“She’s burning the body.”

“What, now?”

“Yes.”

“...oh.”

Martin put down the box of plasters and reached out to tap his fingers against the back of Jon’s hands. When he turned them over slowly, Martin took them in his own and squeezed.

He bit back a sigh of relief when Jon squeezed slightly back. Whenever he turned his eyes far enough away to Look at things, it was always a guessing game as to whether or not he would respond to anything Martin did. 

He wasn’t sure if he would even hear him but he tried a question anyway.

“Is she… doing anything? Saying anything?”

“No. She just… getting it over with. Watching it. Making sure it burns completely.”

Martin shut his eyes, trying to banish the image of a mostly-human body being bundled into a roaring, white-hot furnace, just like the ones they had passed in the refinery. 

He heaved a great sigh through his nose and tightened his grip on Jon’s hands. Jon still seemed very far away, Seeing what he spoke of in real time.

Silence settled over them like a pall as they sat on the ashy ground and let what little ceremony there was in Daisy’s cremation play out.

It took a human body about three hours to burn. Martin remembered having a brief conversation about it with the funeral director when his mum died. 

Except hours didn’t exist anymore and his mum had wanted to be buried anyway.

Daisy would burn for as long as this place felt like burning her, with fires fueled by desolation hotter than any crematorium. 

Martin dithered for a bit, wondering if he should say anything, a few last words. He had bid his goodbyes a long time ago but he still thought the solemnity of the moment called for some sort of marking.

Daisy wasn’t exactly a friend, for most of time they had known each other Martin had privately considered her an enemy, but she had tried to be a better person at the end of it all and that was worth something to him.

After turning it over in his mind, he decided it would be best to say nothing. Who Daisy had been to him, with all of them, couldn’t be summed up in a pithy eulogy.

He could only imagine how Jon felt.

Opening his eyes and raising his bowed head, he looked to Jon and felt his heart ache when he saw the tears building in his eyes. 

There was no expression on his face, his thoughts miles from his body and unaware of the moisture threatening to spill over his cheeks. Martin felt his own eyes prick sympathetically. He had always been an easy crier.

He bit his tongue however until, after what seemed like an age, Jon’s eyes suddenly snapped back into focus and flickered to him.

“It’s done,” He announced, and only then did the tears fall, “Oh.”

Jon didn’t blink anymore but his eyelids fluttered a bit as he tried to stem the flow. Martin let go of his hands and reached over to cradle his face instead, wiping the tears away with his thumbs.

“I didn’t… notice…” Jon murmured.

“It’s fine, you’re fine.”

“Nn.”

He let Martin dry his eyes but held onto to his hands for a moment just as he went to take them away, anchoring himself as he took deep breaths.

Martin leaned forward to plant a soft kiss on his forehead and Jon sighed heavily.

“What…” Martin whispered into the small space between them as he leaned back an inch, “What will Basira do now?”

In an instant, he knew he had asked the wrong question as Jon’s eyes glazed over again and he spoke with an authority that wasn’t his own.

“Basira Hussain will not cry,” He intoned, “It never came easily to her and she has forgotten how. She will sit and wait until the fire in the furnace dies and she can sift through the ashes and ensure that nothing remains of Alice Tonner. Eventually, she will realise that the furnaces here never die and that her partner’s ashes will burn infinitely within the gut of Desolation. Basira Hussain will stand then and walk between scalding metal and tripping tracks, trying in vain to blink away the afterimage of the shape Alice Tonner’s body made as she-”

“Jon!”

With his hands still on his face, Martin gave Jon a little tug on his sideburns and the little sharp pinch brought him back into the moment, looking up at Martin with surprise.

“Sorry! Sorry, you just- you were starting to sound a bit… statement-y?”

“Oh, damn… sorry.”

“No, you’re fine, just… she… probably wouldn’t want us to know this bit. I shouldn’t have asked.”

Jon shook his head, though Martin wasn’t sure if it was a denial or if he was just trying to clear it.

“No, I need to be more aware of… This place has proven I can’t really afford to let my guard down.” 

He looked back down the path they had come from, his eyes following the whirling clouds of ash billowing above them. Martin moved his hands from his face only so that he could draw him into another hug. Jon returned it with a heaving sigh, leaning his weight on him and turning his face into the crook of his neck.

“Basira…” When Jon spoke his voice was weary and soft, and Martin knew his mind was with him in this instant, “Basira will head to London. She knows the way and she doesn’t have to track Daisy through any more domains so she will avoid entering them as much as she can. She’ll be alright. And I…” He huffed, “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

Martin didn’t laugh but the sound he made was close enough to one.

“Okay, good.”

He broke the hug and leaned down to roll the hem of Jon’s trousers back over his bruised leg.

“Let’s get moving then?” Martin packed away the first aid kit, swinging his bag onto his back, “We're never going to get there before her, but we shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

He stood and held a hand out to Jon. 

“No," Jon agreed.

He took his hand and let himself be pulled to his feet. The leg ached in protest under the pressure but it wouldn’t stop him from walking.

“We shouldn’t.”

**Author's Note:**

> tma continues to occupy 80% of my brain rn and ep 179 was exactly as melancholy and tragic as expected
> 
> I wasn't super thrilled that basira was going to be leaving jm so i basically used martin as a mouthpiece to get my thoughts out on paper lol
> 
> here's hoping this doesn't get jossed next week!


End file.
